


Lyrium Realizations

by Cats_Obsessions



Series: Unexpected - Fenris/Dorian [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Friendship, Feelings Realization, Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Brands, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cats_Obsessions/pseuds/Cats_Obsessions
Summary: When the group splits up in the Exalted Plains, Fenris is confronted with a decision regarding exactly how far he would go to protect a Tevinter mage. Turns out, he can only ignore his feelings for so long.Or DAI + Fenris
Relationships: Fenris/Dorian Pavus
Series: Unexpected - Fenris/Dorian [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126691
Kudos: 26





	Lyrium Realizations

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is part of a larger series with them, though it can be read as a stand alone- just know that there has been a lot more between them leading up to this point. I am posting stories in the series out of order, so I still have a few more that go before this to post and maybe one or two after. :D

“Well, this is pleasant.” Dorian hums.

Inquisitor Ellena smiles, her eyes trailing over the thick canopy of grey clouds above them, “It is, isn’t it?”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“And I was choosing to ignore your sarcasm.” She responds. “I like it here; it reminds me of the mountains my clan often traveled near.”

Fenris can’t help but huff in amusement at Dorian’s dejected frown. “It isn’t even raining, mage. I thought you would be happy.” He chides.

“Don’t jinx it,” the altus whines. “And don’t pretend like you’re not cold, too. Everything is so damn cold in the South.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Fenris chuckles, patting Dorian on the shoulder gently. He isn’t completely wrong, though. There is a heavy chill in the air that sticks to them through the fog. The thick, blue jacket he picked up last time he was in Tevinter helps, but it is nothing like the warm sun of his homeland.

The Exalted Plains, or Dirthavaren as the elves called it before the chantry lead their siege on the land, is desolate in some parts while flourishing with green in others. Regardless, it is muddy everywhere, still damp from recent rain.

“I’m starting to think it will take an eternity to find these sorry bastards,” Varric says at Fenris’ side.

As wars wage on in the barracks and on the fields, a handful of soldiers have gone missing. Most are expected to be corpses on the field, but their commanders had held onto hope that even one could have survived. If not, those who fell should be buried and have any personal affects on them returned to their families. Seeing as the inquisitor was exploring the region anyways, she agreed to assist the commanders in this quest. 

Fenris agrees, “Sorry indeed if we cannot find them alive.” He has little hope, but it would be a nice change of pace to find some positivity in this forsaken land. As they continue to trudge through the mud and dirt of the land, the group eventually comes to a fork in the road.

“Well, left or right?” Dorian ponders, looking to Ellena for direction.

“Inquisitor,” Varric says, “Might I suggest we split up? The scouts did say there weren’t many enemies in these parts.”

Ellena stops walking to turn and face him, “Are you sure it’s a good idea? Are you all comfortable with that?”

“Whatever you prefer is fine with me,” Fenris nods.

Dorian is more adamant “I think we would all like to go back to Skyhold sooner than later. I too vote to split up.”

Ellena seems to ponder this for a moment, her eyebrows scrunching ever so slightly, until eventually she nods affirmatively “Very well, each group should have a mage in case there’s a need for healing, so Varric will come with me to the right and Dorian and Fenris, you two go left.” She smiles with a tilt of her head that Fenris is not quite sure what it is supposed to mean. “We search the area marked on our map and return within the hour. If either party isn’t here by then, the other will search for them.”

“Perfect,” Dorian grins.

They set down the winding path, deeper into what can only be described as marshes. Leafless trees surround shallow, murky water that covers their path. Next to him, Dorian groans about soggy feet and ruined socks. However, he doesn’t turn back, pushing on despite his discomfort. It is one blessing that despite the mage’s proclivity for whining, he has no problem persevering. At times, Fenris almost wonders if it is just a habit to keep up his reputation as a high maintenance Tevene- somehow more harmless than the reality of a mage with his power and determination at the side of the inquisitor.

Of course, Fenris knows better by now. After spending this much time with the inquisition, he has learned Dorian is anything but a regular Tevinter mage. He isn’t the first Fenris has reluctantly befriended by now, but he has grown to be the closest. And as they walk, scouring the lands, conversation between them comes easily as they both take the chance to slip into Tevene once again.

“I could use a drink,” Dorian sighs.

Fenris does not look up from where he is focused on avoiding fallen branches and muddy potholes, “As could I.”

“Drinks when we return?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

It is a tradition. It was a tradition when he followed Hawke to drink with their companions at the Hanged Man after their adventures, and now in the inquisition, it is an often observed tradition for them to partake upon returning to Skyhold. Of course, this crew starts less bar fights and there’s certainly never attempted assassination attempts.

It wasn’t something he always enjoyed, at least not with Dorian. The idea of a peaceful evening of drinks with a magister’s son appalled him. He had not realized how much they would grow to know each other, to realize their commonalities despite the odds. Now, on the occasions in which the crew doesn’t assemble at the tavern, Fenris has found himself drinking in the library with Dorian more than once.

Isabella will surely never let him live it down if she learns he has befriended a Tevinter mage so.

Dorian is silent until they finally make it out of the bog and onto dry land. There isn’t much farther to go and they will be at the end, still yet without the lost soldier in sight.

“You know, the Herald’s Rest is always serving that piss cheap ale. We should have something nicer after all this. I saw a delightful looking syrah in the cellars the other day.”

“Cheap isn’t always bad,” Fenris responds.

“Yes, right. Of course.” Dorian’s voice is tinged in disappointment- a reaction Fenris did not consider, or perhaps what exactly Dorian was insinuating is what was lost on him. He’s never been good at this kind of thing. Dorian flirts and jokes with ease. It is not always easy to discern which words hold weight to them or not. An evening just the two of them though sounds _nice_.

“However, I wouldn’t say no to splitting a bottle with you.” He clarifies, hoping that is what Dorian wanted.

“Wonderful!” Dorian grins, and Fenris can see the dusting of warmth across the mage’s cheeks and sparkle in those stunning, grey eyes that send butterflies to his stomach far more quickly than he’d ever like to admit. It’s distracting- too distracting. He’s forgotten to keep an eye on their surroundings, and nearby Fenris hears the distinctive sound of cracking twigs.

“Some one is approaching.” He says. He unsheathes his sword and positions himself in a defensive stance.

At most, he expected some wild animals or a small troop of soldiers. And yet, they find themselves overrun quickly. Red templars creep out from the forest line, shining lyrium stark against the muted colors of their environment. There are far too many, and Fenris finds Dorian and him nearly outmatched. His brands glow and flare as he puts all his energy into each hit. Behind him, Dorian casts his most powerful spells just to attempt to thin out the ambush; he reanimates the soldiers that Fenris fells to have them fight alongside them, fire falls from the skies, and he encases Fenris in a protective barrier. Still, it is not enough. Deeper into the forest, Fenris and Dorian find themselves retreating.

“Fasta vass!” Dorian groans, frantically rummaging through his bag as they retreat.

Fenris can feel it- he’s low on lyrium. The hum of energy that Fenris can usually detect from him is weak if not barely there. And yet, the group advances on them still. Where they disposed of templars before, it seems more emerge to attack them. Eventually, it is a horror that strikes him. When things were finally looking manageable, Fenris hears Dorian cry out behind him. A quick glance tells him all he needs to know- he’s been hit from afar, shards of lyrium that flew through the air to cut and slice away at him. His barrier should have deflected it, but he was too weak. Too little, too late, Fenris lunges toward the horror while its distracted, beheading it with one swipe. The last two soldiers are delt with quickly, the extra adrenaline spike and fury he feels fueling him.

“Dorian!” Fenris is at Dorian’s side in an instant, falling to his knees where Dorian lays. The mage is awake, but blood is beginning to pool, and a large shard of red lyrium is protruding from his side. A spike of panic surges through Fenris, more palpable in his voice than he would prefer, “We will find the others, Ellena can heal you.”

“Kaffas,” he groans in pain. His hand hovers near the shard, but it doesn’t seem as though he can bring himself to touch it. “Do a man a favor and take this out of me.”

“You will bleed out.” Fenris furrows his brows, inspecting the rest of the mage for injuries or missed shards. He already removed most, shallow cuts left behind. “We must have-”

“I don’t have any mana or health potions if that’s what you’re about to say. If you don’t take it out, it will infect me for sure. We can’t risk it.” Dorian says, and Fenris can hear the desperation in his voice.

Oh, how cruel irony is, that he would grow so attached to an _Altus_.

As he stares down at the mage, he knows he would do anything to keep him safe, no matter what that might entail. “I won’t let you die.”

“Well, don’t let me become one of them!” Dorian squawks, panic in his eyes. “At least if I die, I’ll go out with a nice view.”

Fenris huffs- he wants to laugh. Of course, Dorian would flirt and joke in a moment like this. Instead, he takes Dorian’s hand in his. “I will take it out and try to stop the bleeding, but you must draw from me.”

“What?!” Dorian asks with wide eyes “No, no, no.”

“Yes.” Fenris gristles. He removes the shard from Dorian’s side as carefully as he can, though it still earns him a yelp and a pained groan. He immediately puts pressure on the wound, using the shreds of some of Dorian’s cape to slow the bleeding, “Now, draw.”

“I can’t, Fen- can’t do that to you.” He grumbles, words slurred from pain and blood loss.

“Dorian, _please_. I don’t want to lose you.” Fenris mutters, bringing Dorian’s hand to press the back of it to his cheek, keeping their fingers intertwined. “I’m asking you to do this.”

He can see the indecision on Dorian’s face, the pain and fear there. Each second that passes he feels his own panic mount until finally, a defeated “Fine.”

He takes a deep breath in preparation- no one has done this since he was a slave. There has been no need as dire as this. He vowed he would never let another soul take from him, but this feels different. He steels himself for what may come. But when his brands begin to glow it is anything except what he expected. There is a small tug, the sensation of the lyrium leaving his body, but it is faint and gentle. It feels almost as though the lyrium were not being taken from him but offered by him, a willing transfer. Under his hand on Dorian’s abdomen, he sees the wound begin to knit itself together. It is anything but fully healed when the mage stops drawing, but the bleeding is staunched enough for Dorian to survive.

“me paenitet.*” The words are slurred as Dorian’s eyes flutter shut, consciousness waning as exhaustion takes over him.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,**” Fenris mutters as he hoists Dorian into his arms. He’s left low on energy, and he won’t be able to activate his brands for some time. Yet, a feeling of peace settles in his chest.

\-----

Fenris finds himself simultaneously pulled as close to and as far from Dorian as possible while he recovers at Skyhold for the next two days.

Ellena blamed herself, of course. And Varric felt bad for suggesting they split up, but of course they all agreed to the plan. These things happen. They’re just fortunate that Dorian had enough mana to heal himself before passing out- at least that is what Fenris told them. He isn’t quite sure why the lie. Perhaps he didn’t want to worry them, or more likely, he didn’t wish to confront what happened.

The problem was not exactly that he allowed Dorian to draw from his brands. Moreso, he found himself conflicted because it had not hurt. No, what hurt, what felt like the icy blade of a dagger in his chest was the panic he felt at the thought of losing him.

It makes him both want to run away and run toward the mage, to tell him every thought he has both good and bad. It takes restraint, but he makes himself illusive to figure things out, try to process his emotions before he talks to Dorian.

He finds himself lingering around Commander Cullen’s office or the main hall where Varric hangs out every now and then to check for updates. Varric gives him a knowing look each time but doesn’t push the topic until perhaps the third day of Dorian’s stay in the medical bay.

“You can talk to him, Broody.” Varric says, eventually. “This is the third time you’ve come in here today with that look on your face.”

Fenris stiffens at the suggestion “This is just my face.”

Varric chuckles lightly “I’ve seen you brood, but this is truly some next level shit.” When Fenris doesn’t reply, he continues “Look, Sparkler will be fine. I’m more concerned about whatever’s got you messed up.”

“It’s nothing,” he says softly, blush tinting his cheeks.

Varric doesn’t miss it, his amusement seeping into his voice “Mhm- maybe you should reconsider what nothing means. Haven’t seen you like this since-”

“Do you have to do this?”

“Fine, fine! I’ll leave you to your brooding.”

Fenris huffs impatiently at his friend. He knows Varric means well, and that much he appreciates. But right now he thinks he’d rather be alone. Just as he is about to leave, Varric stops him.

“Elf?” He calls, some seriousness in his voice.

“Yes?”

His eyes are soft and gently, none of his usual teasing in his voice, “Take it from someone speaking from experience- don’t let this one get away.”

He doesn’t say anything but the words circle his mind as Fenris retreats to find somewhere to think.

When Dorian is released from medical, Fenris knows he can’t avoid him anymore. However, he tries, heading to the top of one of the towers. And it works. At least it did until he hears the mage approach, he sole of his shoes clicking on the stone stairway.

“You know, I’m recovered, but it would have been nice if you were hiding somewhere with less stairs.” He chides. No laughter comes from the elf, nor does Fenris turn his head to meet Dorian’s gaze.

He often scoffed at Verric’s name for him, _Broody_ , but the dwarf knows him well- knows his tendencies. It has been many years since they met and much has changed, but Fenris’ introspective nature certainly hasn’t. It has been a lot to swallow, this sudden realization of emotion and feelings that are all out of place, or so he thinks- thought- wonders.

And for Dorian to find him now of all times. Now, as he sits and thinks about that very man. What is he doing, letting a Tevinter mage draw from his lyrium as if there were no greater implications to it, implications about what they might be?

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

He almost wishes he felt the pain and nightmare fueled anxiety the act once brought him. Instead, he’s tossed and turned at night with worry for his injured friend. His thoughts only linger on the mage, not his past as he had expected. And the only fear dredged up in him is the fear he felt that he may lose Dorian before- _no_. He pushes the foolish thought away.

“You’re sorry?” Fenris snarls, finally turning to look at him.

“More than I can express.” He replies solemnly. Dorian’s eyes sink to the floor in shame. Grey like a storm, they always do betray his emotions.

“Yes, you’re sorry, but not for the right reasons.” Fenris hops off the ledge to face him now. His eyes slowly trail over Dorian, taking in every feature, scrutinizing, testing and examining for any sign of pain or injury left from the incident. His healing saved his life, but it wasn’t enough. The only partial healing coupled with travel delayed his recovery further _. He wouldn’t take enough_. He only took the lyrium he needed to barely survive.

“I was terribly foolish, and I hurt you in the process.”

“For being so intelligent, you are so dense sometimes! Didn’t you even stop to think? You could have died!” Fenris finds his voice rising without registering it. He doesn’t yell- but the strain must be obvious.

Dorian recoils slightly, but he seems to feel he deserves it. “I should have packed better or guarded myself more. I put you in a horrible position. I understand- you have every right to be mad,” he continues berating himself for all the things Fenris doesn’t care about.

It makes him more frustrated. All the thoughts and words swirling around his mind “No- you don’t understand.”

“If I had known- you should have rather let me die than hate me for hurting you,” there’s a crack in his voice as he says at, as if he really did feel pain.

Fenris uses it to will himself to calm down. He doesn’t want to hurt the mage- it’s just the opposite. “That’s just it. You are almost eager to get yourself killed. Do you even comprehend self-preservation? You talk like a fucking blood mage,” Fenris lets himself look away. His eyes scan the skyline of snowy mountains while he tries to order his thoughts. He had gone through what he would say a million times, but still, his emotions get the best of him. “I only offered because I was willing. With your hesitance and how little you took, you could have been too far gone for me to do anything.”

Dorian blinks, mouth opening before closing again as he processes the words. Finally, he asks “You’re mad at me for _not_ taking your offer quicker? I swore I wouldn’t-”

Fenris interrupts “You are so concerned about hurting me, but it is on my own terms. These brands are my own to serve me as I wish.”

“I’m aware of that, but it doesn’t mean I should _use_ you like everyone else- like _they_ did.”

“Accepting needed help is not using someone. This is the same bullshit as your birthright. Why are you so unwilling to lean on others?” Fenris locks eyes with Dorian, silently pleading he will understand- be willing to change, to see what he means. But Dorian doesn’t say anything. The fight seems to have drained his usually sharp eyes. It tugs at Fenris’ heart, his anger resending enough for his voice to turn soft. “I would die for you- a lot of us would. You know that, right?”

Dorian avoids eye contact, glancing toward the mountains instead. “I am told that is what fighting as a team should be like.”

“No, Mage. This isn’t Tevinter,” Fenris takes a step toward him, close enough to reach, wanting- longing for something, perhaps a comforting touch, something to make Dorian know. But he stops himself. “We care about you. Even if I have not always been forthcoming about it, _I_ care about you—deeply.”

He looks up with hope in his eyes only to push it down “I’m not sure I understand your implication.” There’s a hint of a coy smile on his lips, though Fenris can see his hesitation. It’s enough to give him the courage, or desperation, he needs to do what he has been too afraid to do for so long.

“Fasta vass, Dorian!” he huffs, grabbing the other man by the collar. He pushes Dorian against the wall, pressing his lips to the other’s quickly before he can come to his senses. He can feel the air escape Dorian’s lungs as if he had been thrown to the ground, a reaction he had never earned from a mere kiss before. The mage is quick to kiss back, nothing tentative in the way he grabs at Fenris, one hand tangling in his hair and the other pulling his waist closer.

Only when he’s out of breath does he pull back, resting his forehead against the mage’s. Dorian leans into his touch, their noses bumping softly.

“Fenris,” Dorian says, low and breathy, uncertainty laces his voice just as much as desire as if the simple word was a question or a plea.

Fenris lets go of Dorian’s collar in favor of brushing his hand over his cheek, savoring the way the mage leans into it. “Now do you understand?”

“I,” he stutters, looking for words “Perhaps you could show me again,” he grins.

The sight of Dorian’s blush tinted cheeks is enough to fill Fenris’ chest with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. There’s a subtle victory in seeing the mage be so flustered he’s at a loss for words. Part of Fenris knows it’s because of his upbringing, the cruelty of Tevinter and their teachings that one could never be loved, certainly not by a man. And so, even the slightest affection is more than enough to fluster him. The thought gives him enough of a push to be direct. He has to, doesn’t he? Or else this will seem like another hook up, emotionless physicality, friendship at best, and Dorian will continue to question if can be cared for, truly.

He remembers the words he told the mage once, long ago when they first discussed relationships in Tevinter. Dorian told him most considered it foolish to pursue a relationship between men.

“Perhaps you would consider being foolish with me,” Fenris murmurs. Part of him hopes Dorian won’t hear him or remember their earlier conversation. When silence is all he hears, he glances up in fear he’s gone too far too fast.

Dorian looks at him with light in his eyes he has not seen before. “I’m all yours,” he says, airy as if he were almost out of breath before a smirk can make its way onto his face “if you’d have an evil Tevinter Altus, that is,” laughter spills from his lips, both of them nervous, happy, scared, and giddy all at once.

Fenris says “Shut up,” but no venom is behind it.

“Make me.”

**Author's Note:**

> *'me paenitet' is Latin (which Tevene is mostly sort of based on) for "I'm sorry"  
> **'Festis bei umo canavarum', which Fenris says in DA2, is "You will be the death of me" 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3


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